Another Country Read Online Free Page B

Kate had said. ‘You’d have to sleep in my bed, but it’s big, don’t worry.’ The bed had an iron frame, slightly fairy-tale-like. Leela’s mind drifted onto a sailing boat with Henri, the girls’ wicked father who had abandoned them in order to bob on the ocean with his American sweetheart. ‘It’s an amazing flat,’ she said.
    â€˜Isn’t it?’ said Kate dryly. ‘Right, I’ve got to get ready. I’ll just close the door. You don’t mind if I strip off a bit, do you?’
    She shut the doors into the passage and living room, and took off the floppy, flared black trousers she always wore, and a blue t-shirt. ‘I feel so fat,’ she muttered.
    â€˜You’re not fat,’ Leela said. She couldn’t have judged the other girl’s body as she would have her own: they were so different, Kate alabaster-white, straight-hipped, long-legged, but as she made embarrassed noises about herself and pulled on another pair of black trousers and a black shirt, and laughed, and said, ‘Right’, and opened the blinds again, Leela envied the differences.
    The telephone in the hall started beeping; she heard Eloise’s voice, saying ‘Amandine!’ and the other girl’s murmur of protest from the kitchen where she was making tacos, then a flurry as the younger sister darted to the instrument. Leela had given Patrick the number in case he got lost; she had a premonition he’d arrived. She opened the door into the hall and saw Eloise, vigorous, certain, her blonde corkscrew curls bobbing. She was saying, ‘Oui … oui … Ah!’ and then in English, ‘One minute. Leela!’
    â€˜I’m here,’ Leela said.
    â€˜It’s your friend – Patrick?’
    Leela took the receiver. ‘Hello?’
    A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was Lucien, a childhood friend of the girls, and his girlfriend Claire. Just behind them, a familiar tall figure, booming as though to conceal embarrassment, ‘Hello Leela. Bonjour, bonjour.’ Eloise had come to the door and was smiling. Patrick bent to do his kisses, and Leela encountered the soft cheeks of Claire, a beautiful girl with short hair, and Lucien, a perhaps equally beautiful boy, short, dark-haired. Patrick and she, old acquaintances, didn’t kiss; it would have been too weird. But he was clutching a bottle and they all came in, and no sooner were they in the living room than the bell rang again. Eloise rushed out, crying, ‘Oh, it’s starting!’

    Leela, in one corner of the room, talked to Lucien and Claire about her job and their commuting. Claire was still living in Bordeaux, teaching and reading for the agrégation. ‘I already have the CAPES,’ she was explaining with a weary face. ‘I just have to take the agrég, and then I can apply for a permanent job and we can live in the same place.’ Lucien put his arm around her. The two of them were like appealing cartoon characters. Leela excused herself, and passed the chair where Patrick, still with his bottle of wine, now open at his feet, was sitting and accepting conversational overtures. Right now it was Eloise who crouched near him, lively and interested. ‘What are you doing in Paris?’ she was asking him in French.
    Patrick’s voice boomed out. ‘Je suis flâneur. Je flâne.’
    â€˜You can’t say that,’ said Leela, scandalised.
    â€˜Non non, c’est bon, flâner, c’est ça,’ said Eloise, thinking the disagreement was linguistic.
    â€˜Mais c’est tellement prétentieux,’ objected Leela. She hated being corrected, and never knew why she felt the need to do it to others. She left them to the rest of the conversation and gave Patrick a disapproving look directed at the wine, which he’d informed her he had no intention of sharing since it was nicer than anything anyone else had brought. She went